


Arthur Conan Doyle reads Johnlock Fanfiction

by Anonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Friends to Lovers, I Don't Even Know, Jesus is a character in this fic, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, but I promise he doesn't appear in a vision to convert John and Sherlock or anything, or - Freeform, seriously I don't even know how to tag this fic, sort of, this just happened, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 08:49:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11227491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Arthur Conan Doyle enters Heaven, after he’s been shown around a bit and started adjusting to being immortal and perfectly happy and all that, Jesus grabs his hand, eyes sparkling with excitement, and leads him into a large room.





	Arthur Conan Doyle reads Johnlock Fanfiction

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird fic. You have been warned.
> 
> Basically, the backstory is that I am a Christian (I think?), gay (probably?), and a hardcore Johnlock shipper (no question), so naturally I spend a lot time feeling upset over the way so many Christians treat the LGBTQ+ community. One day I was feeling especially angry and depressed over it, and . . . this just sort of happened.

When Arthur Conan Doyle enters Heaven, after he’s been shown around a bit and started adjusting to being immortal and perfectly happy and all that, Jesus grabs his hand, eyes sparkling with excitement, and leads him into a large room.

Inside are stacks and stacks of papers and endless screens opened to various web browsers. Curiously Doyle starts skimming through them at random, and quickly realizes what they are: papers, academic theses, high school essays, drawings, fanfiction, Tumblr posts, and every other imaginable variety of argument for and celebration of the romance between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

As he looks and reads Doyle pushes down the swelling in his heart and his forehead creases in confusion. At length he glances up questioningly towards Jesus, only to become more confused upon finding him literally bouncing on his toes with delight.

“You see!” Jesus grins, gesturing expansively around the room, “you thought you’d take the secret of these men's love with you to the grave; but you didn’t! All these people—so many of them!—discovered it and brought it out into the light and built on it and _just look at it now!_ ”

Doyle just stares at Jesus for a whole minute, incredulous, then his gaze drops to the floor as he tries to hold back tears. He is unsuccessful, and when he looks back up a few moments later, there are wet tracks along his cheeks. “They said … everyone said … said you hated that. Hated two men being romantic with each other, I mean. Or two women. I never even meant for it to happen … I flirted with the idea; making Holmes a bit like Oscar Wilde and all that; but then they went and fell dreadfully in love and there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it. I was so scared people would find out—I thought they must find out, because it kept leaking all over the pages no matter how often Watson wrote that nonsense about Holmes being an unfeeling machine. I even gave Watson a wife or two or something to keep them apart, but it was no good because I never actually believed that the wife or wives were anything but another of Watson’s fictions, another ploy to cover up the real truth … That’s why I killed Holmes off. To keep everyone from finding out. Besides, I thought it must be evil, that I must be evil for creating it, because everyone said so, and I thought they couldn’t _all_ be mistaken, no matter how right it felt for Holmes and Watson to be together. I thought maybe if I did penance by killing him off—if I made them pay for their crimes—I might be forgiven. But I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t, so I brought him back. And when I was dying I was so afraid because I thought maybe I’d be punished for it, for letting them live, even though I tore myself apart by separating them in the end, making them go separate ways …” It all comes out in a rush, and he finally trails off.

After a moment’s silence, Jesus answers softly: “But you didn’t separate them. It was far too late for that. They weren’t your property anymore—they were Holmes and Watson.” His eyes sweep the room again. “And Holmes and Watson always find each other, in every time and every world you can imagine. Stunning, isn’t it?”

And Doyle stands so still, gaze wandering across all the papers and all the screens, and he says in little more than a whisper: “Then you really don’t mind. People were wrong. You don’t hate it … hate them … don’t wish I hadn’t created them …”

And Jesus puts his hand on Doyle’s shoulder, and his smile is gentle and sad and powerfully glad all at once. “Never. Listen to me, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You were so proud of those history stories you wrote; and they did their measure of good in their own way. But _Sherlock and Watson_! Those two, Sir Doyle, became the friends, comforters, and allies of so many who are marginalized and oppressed, labeled and abused because of who they love. They even transformed the perspective of some of those who were once among the ranks of the oppressors—not unlike the way they and Wilde transformed you, for all your desperate resistance. Sir Doyle, you are still learning to know me, and the one fundamental fact you must get into your head is that I am the ally of the oppressed and downtrodden. And Holmes and Watson, not in spite of but precisely because of their love, have accomplished powerful work for such as these.”

By this time Doyle is sobbing with the surprise and relief and joy of it all, and Jesus pulls him into a hug. “Thank you for introducing them to the world, Sir Doyle.”

And when Doyle’s tears are dry, Jesus adds with a grin: “Now, when you’re ready, I have selected a few fics that you absolutely must read!”


End file.
